And So Begins Act Three
by citruspeach
Summary: ONESHOT 'I was a danger to myself, they said. I had to be locked up, or I would have hurt myself, or worse, someone else.' A year after the strike, Jack is now living in an insane asylum. Feedback appreciated!


And So Begins Act Three

By Arianna aka Kinney

Warnings: Insanity and slash (if you want it to be there. It's really not... but it works, I tell you!) (Wow, I have issues with not writing slash... :dies:)

A/N: Okay, I started this MONTHS ago, but then it... died. And now I've finally finished it, even though it's only like, what, three pages long? Anyway! I would really, really apreciate feedback on this one. Constructive criticizim would be SO APPRECIATED IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY. See, I'm thinking of submiting it to my school's art and literary magazine, and I need to know if it's shit or not, and if it is shit, what I should change. Oh, and if I submitted it, I would obviously change the names and dialect... now onto the disclaimer.

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, but I do own a HOT TUB! HOT TUB! HOT TUB! dies of happiness And now, for the story!

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I was a danger to myself, they said. I _had_ to be locked up, or I would hurt myself, or worse, someone else.

I knew this was a lie. I was sure they knew too, but everyone else couldn't seem to grasp the fact that I was _not crazy_! Not even David saw the truth, and he had been with me when they dragged me away, spouting lies about me "needing help" and "endangering my own well-being." I had endangered Their "well-being," more like it. My mouth formed the ghost of a smile as I remembered how I had taken down two of them before they'd managed to get me in their car. My smile disappeared and I managed small, bitter laugh. _Not much of a danger now, eh? _I thought. My restraints prohibited almost all movement, and because of the drugs they had me on I doubted if I would be able to fight anyway. They'd taken away everything I cared for most, I realized: the ability to move, to converse, to fight… and now, with the help of the drugs they kept pumping into my system, They were slowly wearing away my ability to think. I tried to laugh again, but the sound caught in my throat and turned into a choked kind of sob.

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I looked over at the mirrored wall from which I knew people could look in and see me. I wanted so very badly to see past it, just to see the silhouettes of whoever was staring in would have been enough. Although I tried with everything I had, the only thing I saw was my own face staring back at me. I shivered at the thought of how I had changed so much in the last few months, transforming from a healthy young man to the gaunt figure that was now staring back at me. I shivered again when I realized that the only way one could tell I was alive was my eyes. The rational part of my mind told me I needed to get away from that train of thought. For once, I listened and focused my efforts on figuring out who was watching me from beyond the glass. A doctor, perhaps? A nurse? Maybe it was David, come to visit his poor, crazy friend. Or maybe… maybe no one was there, I thought sadly. Maybe I was completely and utterly alone.

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A few minutes later, the door opened, and I thought that it might be one of the few "friends" who still came to visit me. When I saw who it was, I began to cower in fear. The nurse stood still for a moment, her face sad, then slowly it set into an expression of resignation. As she came forward I struggled to get away from her – she had a needle! – but all I managed to do was thrash around in my restraints. As she advanced on me, syringe in hand, my struggles became more pronounced.

"Shh…" she said, trying to placate me, "Sweetie, calm down. I'm not going to hurt you." My thrashing increased as she said this. That's what They always said! "Sweetie, you have to stop moving, or this is going to hurt! All we're trying to do is help."

I wanted to scream, to tell her that I was fine, that I didn't need whatever They were trying to inject me with, to _not come near me with that needle!_; but the words caught in my throat, stopped by the total fear that I now felt whenever I saw a syringe. I tried to shout for help, but all that came out was a muffled sort of groan. My thrashing increased as the nurse drew closer. The last coherent thought that passed through my mind was that I hoped David wasn't watching; I didn't want the boy to see me like this. I continued thrashing until I felt the sharp pain of a needle in my arm. That was when I screamed. The sound seemed to reverberate around the tiny room, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the nurse push the remaining contents of the syringe down into my arm, then hurriedly rush out of the cell they kept me in. I nearly smiled at the sight; it was almost like I was able to fight again.

---

After the medication that ran through my blood wore off, I awoke. Glad to be ripped away from my inevitable nightmare, I silently thanked my sensitive hearing picking up on the creaking of an opening door. I heard the sound of footsteps walking towards me, and looked up, hoping it wasn't another nurse. My wish was this time granted, and what I saw were the saddened eyes of David Jacobs.

"Hey, Jack," he said.

"Hey, Dave," I replied. The silence was horrible, but I didn't know what to say – I doubted he did either. David's visits were always like this. It was a mark of how much he cared about me that he kept coming back. I decided to take a chance by asking a question… maybe David's answer would be different this time.

"Hey, Davey… d'ya think you could get me out of here?" I smiled, hoping it would make me seem normal. "I swear, I dun' need whatever they're givin' me. I'm not crazy."David lowered his eyes.

"Jack, you know I can't get you out of here. And if I could, I wouldn't."

I frowned. "What're you talking about? Why-" butDavid cut me off.

"Don't you remember, Jack? What you did?" I shook my head.David sat back and laughed, but the laugh was devoid of all humor or happiness. "You don't remember? You honestly don't remember?" David's bitter laughter continued. "You really are crazy."

"What did I do?" I wasn't sure I wanted to find out.

"You killed him."

I reeled back, stunned. "What? …Who? Why?"

"Oscar Delancy. You killed him. And as to why? Well, when I found you sitting next to his corpse, you said, 'He stole my hat.'"

"But – what – I had to've had a better reason than that! I couldn'… I wouldn'…"

Davidscoffed. "Why do you think you're in here, Jack? There was a whole trial – but let me guess, you don't remember that either. You were set for life in prison, but you ended up here instead. You… no one really knows what's wrong with you. Just that you're crazy… look, I gotta' go. I'll come 'round tomorrow, maybe the next day." He left the room, with me sitting horrified on the ground. It struck me then how good of a friend David was. I had killed someone, yet here he was, day after day.

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Sometime later a nurse came in, but I didn't fight back. I deserved my pain and fear. As the drugs slowly started to take effect, I fell back against the padded wall. I waited to fall into my sedated sleep, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the next day would be different. Maybe something would happen. But through these thoughts of hope, I somehow knew that it was going to be the pattern of the rest of my life.

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So, yes, FEEDBACK. PLEASE. PLEASE!

Oh, yes, and if you like it, would you help me think of a title? 'Cause that one makes no sense. I just like it. Yes. I think it sounds cool.

Oh, and mucho thankos to my beta, Fox! SHE ROCKS. LIKE WOAH. Thanks again, Fox!


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